


and he glows like the sun

by megeggsalad



Series: take a moment to breathe [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, they're on the same team because i do what i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megeggsalad/pseuds/megeggsalad
Summary: Their reasons for waiting are good, and completely valid, Connor just--he just doesn’t want to, any more. He’s tired of waiting for the world to catch up with them. He and Dylan have been running their own race for a while now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this one's for steph.

Midterms fucking suck. 

They suck less with Dylan here, holding Connor’s head in his lap, running his fingers through Connor’s hair, calming his pulse and slowing his breathing. 

“You need to slow down, Con,” Dylan says, bending to brush a kiss along Connor’s forehead. “This is the second time you’ve freaked out like this in two days.” 

“I’m a senior,” Connor says, and he knows he sounds numb. “It’s my last semester. I should be used to this.” 

“Oh, Connor,” Dylan murmurs. “No one expects that of you.” 

And Connor doesn’t reply, because he knows. It’s just--he expects better of himself. Midterm panic attacks are normal, this happens every semester, and Connor still hasn’t figured out how to calm himself down. He needs Dylan for that. 

He thanks whatever god is up there every day that they were drafted to the same team. 

Connor rolls over and presses his forehead into Dylan’s stomach. Dylan smells like trees and the rink, which shouldn’t be comforting but it is, because he’s known Dylan for four years and loved him just as long. Dylan sighs when Connor presses his lips against Dylan’s stomach, over his shirt, and when Connor glances up at him, he’s smiling, his face soft and open and fond, and Connor thinks he comes to life a little more every time he sees that look on Dylan’s face. 

“Come on, McAdorable,” Dylan says, nudging Connor until he stands up. “Let’s get a shower. Those always make you feel better.” 

“Okay,” Connor says, and tucks himself against Dylan’s side, pressing as close to his boyfriend as he can. 

“You’re just determined to make this difficult for me, aren’t you?” The question is rhetorical and Dylan sounds so affectionate that Connor knows he doesn’t care, at all. 

“Mhm,” Connor hums into Dylan’s shirt, and Dylan presses a few kisses to the skin behind Connor’s ear and pushes him to their bathroom. 

Showering together has always been one of Connor’s favorite things, because he gets to see Dylan and touch him but also because if he washes Dylan’s hair, Dylan will wash his hair, and for Connor, nothing is more soothing than Dylan’s fingers working their way through his hair. When they get out of the shower, Connor is loose and happy, and Dylan towels them both off, not bothering to shove Connor into clean clothes. Their bed is a nest of blankets and Dylan pulls Connor as close as he can, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Connor,” Dylan says, and Connor closes his eyes, a smile slipping onto his lips. 

“Dylan,” he replies, and Dylan ghosts a kiss over his lips. 

Connor feels every word against his mouth when Dylan says, “I’m going to marry you one day.” 

Connor’s eyes fly open, and all he can do is stare at Dylan. Not because he doesn’t want that--god, he wants it like he wants his next breath--but because he can feel the truth of it. Dylan is asking, yes, but he’s also just saying. Dylan is going to marry Connor one day. Connor is going to marry Dylan one day. It just is. 

“When?” Connor asks, his eyes settling closed again, and he can feel Dylan’s smile against his lips. Dylan shrugs. “In a few years, maybe. Not now. I wanna graduate. I wanna play in the NHL. I’m not sure if I wanna come out yet, but I do want to marry you.” 

That is exactly, almost word for word, what Connor has been thinking for the past few months, since he kissed Dylan for the first time. And maybe that’s a little bit much--but with Dylan now, here, repeating it all back to him, it all just makes a little more sense to Connor. 

“I want that too,” Connor says. 

“Good,” Dylan says, and giggles a little. “You’d be a good house husband.” 

Connor presses his mouth to Dylan’s, and thinks that maybe he’d like that. 

*** 

In the six years since Dylan first brought it up, Connor has wanted to propose eight times. 

Twice in bed on Sunday mornings and four times on the ice in the middle of or after a game. 

Once when he was sitting next to Dylan’s hospital bed, holding his hand, after Dylan had gotten a pretty bad concussion and was finally allowed to sleep. 

And once after they’d lost in the second round of their first playoff run, when Dylan had cried in his arms in the locker room. 

(Connor had been crying, too--Dylan just took precedence, at the time.) 

They hadn’t come out yet, but the team knew, and their coaches knew, and management knew, and--well. And Connor had the C, and Dylan would likely get an A within two seasons, and they were at the top of the scoring race. 

They were good enough, Connor knew, but he still expected more of himself. This time, though--he expected more of himself for Dylan. 

He’d just gotten off the phone with his agent, who’d been finalizing his contract negotiations, and it was better than he ever could’ve hoped for, so soon. 

The only thing he’d asked for was a no-trade clause. 

And he’d gotten it. 

“Dylan!” he yelled, as soon as he opened the door to their shared apartment. About two seconds later, his boyfriend was throwing himself into Connor’s arms, screaming incoherently, and Connor knew--he’d gotten what he wanted, too, what they’d both asked for. 

“Dylan,” he says again, and Dylan stills, though Connor can still feel him trembling from where he’s pressed against Connor. 

“We did it,” Dylan says, breathless. His eyes are shining. “We’re together, Con, we did it--” 

Connor takes Dylan’s face in his hands and kisses him. Dylan melts against him, and-- 

And. 

Their reasons for waiting are good, and completely valid, Connor just--he just doesn’t want to, any more. He’s tired of waiting for the world to catch up with them. He and Dylan have been running their own race for a while now. 

Connor pulls back, and traces a finger down Dylan’s face, slipping his other hand under Dylan’s shirt to stroke his fingers across Dylan’s back. 

“What?” Dylan asks, looking a little concerned even though he’s still absolutely fucking glowing. 

“Nothing,” Connor says. “Just you.” 

And see, that’s just it. Dylan will never just be nothing to Connor. Dylan smiles at him anyways, though, and says, “It’s okay, Con, you can be affectionate now. Well, actually, you can be affectionate next season when our no-trade clauses go into effect. Speaking of which, what do you think about coming out after our first home win?” 

Connor smiles, and tucks a strand of Dylan’s hair away from his face. “Whatever you want to do, Dyls,” he says. 

Dylan’s smile is brighter than the sun, and Connor just--he feels it. He feels it more and more every time Dylan screams fuck yeah, Davo! into his ear on the ice after a goal, every time Dylan groans Connor when Connor goes down on him in bed. He feels it more when Dylan smiles at him over six heads at practice, when he wakes up next to Dylan on an off day, when he collapses next to Dylan on their bed, sweaty but satisfied after an orgasm. He feels it more with every I love you, with every blinding smile, with every touch, on skin or through fabric. 

He feels it more every time Dylan so much breathes in his direction. 

Connor is done waiting, but Dylan deserves more than just this, more than just right now. 

“I’ll call coach and let him know that we’re doing it this season,” Dylan says, blinking happily down at Connor. “Then I’m going to kiss you until you come.” 

Connor throws his head back and laughs, even as his heart rate spikes, and Dylan really does go to call their coach. 

Connor sends a few messages and makes a few calls of his own. 

*** 

Three days later, he bundles Dylan into a car and they drive home. 

To the university, that is, because somewhere along the line, that became home. 

They’re going to the rink, of course. 

Three days earlier, Connor had texted their old college coach and gotten permission to have the rink to themselves. Then he’d called and made an appointment at a jewelry store, just before closing, and asked his current coach to call a press conference to take attention away from him while he shopped. 

The bands are simple, just a dark platinum that Connor had felt fit them best. They’ve lived in Connor’s pocket since he bought them two days ago. 

And they’re at the rink, because it’s the first place they clicked, the first place Connor realized he could love Dylan. It was the place where they’d won their first championship together, and the place where they’d first kissed. The rink was where it all came together, for them--where their feelings off the ice and skills on it came together and created something beautiful, inside them and out. 

So Connor wants it to be here. Because this is where they started it all, and this is going to be where they start a new chapter, too. 

“I’m glad we came back,” Dylan says as they step on the ice. Connor leans against the bench, watching Dylan skate around for a bit. He looks so relaxed, Connor thinks. He hasn’t stopped glowing since he learned that they’d be staying on their team, and staying together. 

“Me too,” Connor says. Sometimes he misses it here, because it was the first place he considered home, after moving around for most of his teenage years because of hockey, living with billet families and only going back to his parents over the summer. And also, of course, because this is where he fell in love with Dylan, before the stress and pressure of the NHL, though the league hasn’t exactly stifled their relationship in any way. 

This was the first place they became Connor and Dylan, Dylan and Connor--and, well, no one ever said Connor wasn’t sentimental. 

“Hey,” Dylan says, softly. He’s suddenly right in front of Connor, taking his hand. “You went somewhere, again.” 

There’s a small smile playing on his lips, and Connor says, “I’ve been trying not to do that as much.” 

Dylan shakes his head at him, and says, “I don’t care where you go, Con. I know you’ll always come back.” 

Connor’s eyes burn with tears he won’t let fall. God, how did he get so lucky. 

He cups Dylan’s face in his hands and kisses him. Dylan smiles into it, all but breaking the kiss, but that’s okay. Dylan tugs on Connor’s shirt, and they float backwards to center ice. When they come to a stop, Dylan presses his forehead to Connor’s and grins. 

“I love you,” he whispers, and somehow it’s louder than every single other thought in Connor’s head. 

“I love you, too,” Connor whispers back, and Dylan’s eye slip shut. And maybe that’s it, Connor thinks. Maybe Dylan always looks like he’s glowing, to Connor. Maybe it’s because Connor loves him. 

(It is.) 

Connor pulls away from Dylan just enough to slip the ring box out of his pocket, but even the small movement makes Dylan open his eyes. 

With legs shaking, straining to keep him balanced on the ice, and the love of his life’s eyes widening a little more with every movement, Connor gets down on one knee.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who's read all my work so far, and left a comment or given me kudos. you're all incredible. i hope you liked it!


End file.
